Friday, May 20, 2005
Re-miniscence
The new car arrives tomorrow.
For some strange reason, through some strange twist of coincidence the Father has decided to go with a Peugeot this time.
It's probably just my psychosis acting up but I just can't help thinking about another Peugeot from a long time ago.
*****
He watched as her fingers crushed the life out of her fag in an ashtray. She exhaled deeply, twin tendrils of smoke forming shortlived divergent cones before dissipating as they fled her nostrils.
She had proud features and fair, faintly freckled skin, and a face that somehow made you think of green eyes and fiery red hair.
But her eyes were brown.
*****
He smiled as he read the text message. How typical of a woman - the means justify the ends. Flirting to gain a possession. In this case, crayons and paper.
And then he remembered another time in another world.
He could picture it in his mind's eye - the same restaurant. She sat opposite him awkwardly as the couple next to them got all lovey dovey. He rolled his eyes at her, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. She smiled with her eyes at him, and then it spread to her face, and his.
Their waitor arrived and slid into the seat next to her. She had that way with men; they instantly became stupid and corny around her.
He asked her where she was from, and he thought with that accent? You've got to be kidding me...
The waitor was really into Her. It was obvious.
And then she did it. She asked him if he could give her some bread to feed the ducks at Hyde park with, pleeease?
The waitor dithered. Well, it's against the rules, well, I really shouldn't...
She gave him The Eye.
He melted.
She left happy, holding half of fort knox worth of bread carefully handwrapped by her personal waitor in aluminium foil, to keep it warm and ward out the winter chill.
He thought, watching her, that she didn't even know it, but she was a professional.
*****
This is a placemarker to remind me to write about a certain journalist.
For some strange reason, through some strange twist of coincidence the Father has decided to go with a Peugeot this time.
It's probably just my psychosis acting up but I just can't help thinking about another Peugeot from a long time ago.
*****
He watched as her fingers crushed the life out of her fag in an ashtray. She exhaled deeply, twin tendrils of smoke forming shortlived divergent cones before dissipating as they fled her nostrils.
She had proud features and fair, faintly freckled skin, and a face that somehow made you think of green eyes and fiery red hair.
But her eyes were brown.
*****
He smiled as he read the text message. How typical of a woman - the means justify the ends. Flirting to gain a possession. In this case, crayons and paper.
And then he remembered another time in another world.
He could picture it in his mind's eye - the same restaurant. She sat opposite him awkwardly as the couple next to them got all lovey dovey. He rolled his eyes at her, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. She smiled with her eyes at him, and then it spread to her face, and his.
Their waitor arrived and slid into the seat next to her. She had that way with men; they instantly became stupid and corny around her.
He asked her where she was from, and he thought with that accent? You've got to be kidding me...
The waitor was really into Her. It was obvious.
And then she did it. She asked him if he could give her some bread to feed the ducks at Hyde park with, pleeease?
The waitor dithered. Well, it's against the rules, well, I really shouldn't...
She gave him The Eye.
He melted.
She left happy, holding half of fort knox worth of bread carefully handwrapped by her personal waitor in aluminium foil, to keep it warm and ward out the winter chill.
He thought, watching her, that she didn't even know it, but she was a professional.
*****
This is a placemarker to remind me to write about a certain journalist.
